


Rivals First

by Geri_Lea



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geri_Lea/pseuds/Geri_Lea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenson forces Mark to face some facts about his relationship with Fernando</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivals First

“Let’s go!”  
  
Mark had barely taken one step out of the Red Bull Energy station when Jenson pounced on him. “Huh?” But Jenson already has a grasp on his wrist and he finds himself following behind the Brit.  
  
“I hate this weekend, we’re getting drunk.”  
  
Getting drunk wasn’t exactly something Mark had planned to do following the race. What he wanted was to lounge around, be lazy, sleep and then catch his flight out tomorrow. Getting drunk, while understanding that Jenson was not in a great place at the moment, wasn’t going to bode well for his plans.  
  
“Listen mate,” Mark starts, zipping up his jacket as they walk. “Why don’t we go have dinner…”  
  
“Fuck food, we’re drinking and we’re going to sort out your issues while I forget mine,” Jenson cuts him off.  
  
“I have issues?” Mark blinks surprised at that. “Please tell me you’re not going to try and hold a reconciliation meeting with Seb again are you. Because I told you the last time…”  
  
Jenson huffs at the memory of his attempt to get the Red Bull drivers on speaking terms after Malaysia. “No. My new phone just isn’t the same as the old one.” Yes there had been things thrown, though Mark couldn’t recall throwing anything personally. It seemed a more Seb approach to things but Jenson refused to let him believe he had just stood there innocently. Mark barely recalled the whole thing to be honest, he had left Jenson consoling a raging Sebastian he’d gone and gotten drunk with a certain Ferrari driver.  
  
“So these mysterious issues of mine?” Mark prompts as they approach the paddock exit and there’s another sigh from Jenson before he turns around to stare at him hard.  
  
“Are you happy Mark? And I’m talking in general here, not just racing and career wise.”  
  
Meeting the determined gaze of his friend, Mark fails to think of an answer. He wasn’t _unhappy_. He settles for shrugging which has Jenson purse his lips clearly not quite the answer he was looking for. “I’m not sure what you want me to say…”  
  
Jenson shakes his head apparently dismissing it for now. “We’ll discuss it later. So tonight then?”  
  
“I really don’t want to get hammered,” Mark states for the record.  
  
“Just one drink then? One tiny drink…” Jenson was giving him the best puppy dog eyes he could make.  
  
Mark holds up one finger with a warning glance and Jenson promptly reaches out and tilts his finger to the side to replicate Sebastian’s arrogant trademark. “More like that isn’t it?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Mark snaps yanking his hand back. “One drink,” he repeats. And Jenson nods, finger waving across his heart in a cross. Mark knew he was going to regret tonight, knew it and yet seemed willing to go ahead with Jenson. He needed serious help.  
  


*              *              *

  
They were many ‘one’ drinks downed between the two of them and Mark can already feel the effects of the alcohol seeping throughout his system. Jenson had yet to broach him about his happiness and had so far spent the last hour bitching to him about Perez, but Mark was fine with his current role of being the supportive mate who listens.  
  
There’s a tequila shot slid his way after he finish his beer and before Mark can protest Jenson’s bitching ends abruptly as he asks the last question Mark was expecting to have to answer.  
  
“Who would you turn gay for?”  
  
“What?” Mark was stunned and even when Jenson repeats the question he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke, except Jenson wasn’t laughing and Mark finds himself downing the shot without encouragement. “Let’s here yours first.” Approaching this with caution felt like the wisest option, however his brain wasn’t quite engaging as fast as it should be, a worrying thought.  
  
“Actually,” Jenson’s mouth grew into a large smile, “Which _driver_ would you turn gay for?” When Mark continues to just stare Jenson offers his answer first, “Nico. Britney Nico. I mean he does, or did, have fabulous hair.”  
  
Mark had been in the process of taking another mouthful of his fresh beer when Jenson supplied his response and he promptly chokes. Nico Rosberg? His ex-teammate did nothing for him. “Far too girly mate.” Mark knows that was the wrong thing as Jenson immediately bursts into laughter at the response.  
“That came out wrong. I just think if you’re going to swing the uh… other way you should do it properly.”  
  
“Let’s here yours then?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Mark was mumbling into his drink as one driver flashed far too quickly to the front of his mind. “I don’t think about it…”  
  
“And I think you’re lying,” Jenson answers simply.  
  
Mark stands up, wobbling a little on his feet as he does before beginning what was going to be a long fumble with his wallet.  
  
“How about I describe who I think you’re perfect man is?”  
  
“And how about you shut up?” Mark snaps frustrated, he didn’t want to hear any of this. The driver that had flashed to mind was back, staring at him with heated intense gaze that left Mark burning for something he hadn’t worked out yet, or was too afraid to admit to himself.  
  
“I’m thinking dark haired, they’d be shorter, I mean there’s not a lot of people taller than you. He’d have one of those sexy accents, speak another language because I’d bet that would turn you on.” Jenson was leaning across the table towards him, eyes sparkling far too brightly. His apparent friend was getting far too much enjoyment out of this. Dropping his voice, Jenson continues in a loud whisper, “I bet he’d look great in red.”  
  
Dumping all the cash from his wallet on the table, deciding counting it would be too much effort, Mark storms out having had enough. He does manage to crash into a waitress with a full tray of drinks in his rush though. His attempt to steady things only worsens the situation and he can only stand there drenched in a variety of beverages.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” the waitress was apologising profusely.  
  
“Its fine,” Mark assures her before stepping around her, trying wring out his shirt and make his way out of the busy bar. Jenson though was right there.  
  
“You know it’s just meant to be a fun game, you don’t have to take it so seriously.” Jenson had far too much bounce in his step as they make their way out onto the foot path. “Why are you so worked up about this?”  
  
Mark wasn’t so sure of his answer to that question either but he was suddenly on edge, and it almost felt like Jenson was deliberately trying to pick at a wall he didn’t dare broach himself. “I don’t want to talk about Fernando, I get enough stick from Seb about that.”  
  
“Fernando?” Jenson raised an eyebrow as they both headed back, clearly deciding that the topic wasn’t yet over. “I was describing Felipe before.”  
  
Mark stops abruptly once more. “I will hit you Jenson,” he warns.  
  
He can see his friend sober up a little at the threat. “Are you happy Mark?” Jenson asks the same question from earlier in the day and this time Mark’s answer comes without delay, no thought, no hesitation, alcohol removing at least one filter.  
  
“No,” he breathes out.  
  
“Do you want to talk?” Jenson’s offer was sincere but the last thing Mark wanted to talk about was the one thing he didn’t even think about it.  
  
“No,” he shakes his head this time and continues walking. He was going to go back to his room, and maybe drink some more.  
  
“I don’t think it’s one sided,” Jenson was back next to him, still bouncing and Mark was finding the motion nauseating. “It’s the touching Mark. All the fucking touching. You might as well hold hands and skip up and down the paddock…” Jenson’s sentence is cut off with a wail when Mark shoves his hard, sending the Brit sprawling to the concrete.  
  
“This is none of your business,” Mark shouts feeling himself snap. “Stay out of this, stay so far out of this or I will ensure you can’t put your nose anywhere else again!”

  
*              *              *

  
Mark was exhausted as he leans against the door jam, tapping on the door lightly because it wasn’t exactly early and the last thing he needed was someone seeing him here. He mustn’t be completely wasted to have coherent thoughts along those lines, though all other thoughts vanish at the sight of a sleepy look Fernando. Dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs and a tee-shirt has Mark reconsidering his choice of a place to crash.  
  
“Do not look at my hair,” Fernando’s hands were pressing down into his hair that was sticking up in all directions and Mark itched to touch it all. “Why are you here?” Fernando though ushers him inside, nose wrinkling, “Smelling like alcohol?”  
  
“I lost my keycard,” Mark explains following Fernando to the bedroom in his suite.  
  
“You could have gone to reception?” Fernando digs through his suitcase to pull out boxers and a shirt.  
  
“You were closer,” Mark shrugs.  
  
“Go shower,” Fernando orders gently.  
  
Mark does, feeling like his head cleared a little as he stood under the hot water. Bracing his hands against the wall, he lets the water beat down on him, trying to get lost under the spray. If he could somehow freeze this moment and just never move…  
  
“Mark?”  
  
Turning his head to the door he can see Fernando had poked his head in and his expression was one of concern. “Don’t drown yourself?”  
  
“Don’t think it’s possible,” Mark sighs but he shuts off the water, not really giving much thought right now to the fact that Fernando had been watching him shower. When he walks out of the room Fernando is holding a glass of water and some painkillers.  
  
“For your head in the morning,” He coaxes Mark to take them. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” Fernando says, though he casts a longing glance at his bed.  
  
Mark doesn’t say anything, just falls face first into sheets that smell like Fernando. Breathing in deeply he smiles as sheets and blankets fall on top of him. Sleep is easy to find.

  
*              *              *

  
Mark wasn’t focused on the TV that was on opposite Fernando’s bed the next morning. His eyes instead were fixed on his and Fernando’s foot tapping against the other while they ate breakfast in bed together, both dressed and killing time before their flights.  
  
“Why aren’t you eating? You like bananas.” Fernando was looking at him concerned and their foot bumping comes to a stop, now just resting against one another as Mark tears his eyes upwards to look at his friend. “You’ve been very quiet all the morning…”  
  
“I’m fine mate,” Mark does his best to try and brush it aside, but he can see Fernando’s face crinkle in concern, worry that settles a little deeper in his brown eyes.  
  
“What happened with you and Jenson last night?”  
  
“Nothing besides a dispute over a differing of opinions,” Mark shovels food into his mouth, despite not having an appetite.  
  
“Dispute over what? Did he make you and Seb try and be friends again?” Now Fernando looked more annoyed than anything and the question is followed by a string of Spanish muttered under his breath.  
  
Understanding, Mark’s hand falls to Fernando’s thigh and squeezes it reassuringly, “Not about Seb and we’re not going to be friends. I promised we could hate him together.” It was the one common thread between them the last few years that had seemed to make them tighter – hating Seb. He could feel Fernando relax against him slowly, before he parts his legs wider, seemingly inviting more of Mark’s touch from the hand still resting there.  
  
“Okay then, tell me what you and Jenson argued about?”  
  
With that Mark immediately removes his hand and snatches up his fork. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“You can tell me everything…” Gone was Fernando’s concern, now he just looked upset.  
  
“This is… personal,” Mark struggles for the right word and then winces when he says it because he knows it wasn’t the right choice.  
  
“Right. Of course.” Fernando was gone from next him moments later. “It’s getting late, I should head off.”  
  
“Come on mate,” Mark pleaded as Fernando dumped his breakfast down and began looking for his socks and shoes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
But Fernando refused to look at him as he responded coldly, “I understand it just fine. It is personal. You do not wish to discuss personal things with me.”  
  
“Fer you know that’s not true,” Mark is pretty sure that’s a lie. They didn’t delve into the depths of deep and personal, it felt almost like they were crossing a line. It had always felt important to Mark that they didn’t become too close. After all, despite how well they got on, they were rivals, they were both competitors. It was important to never forget that.  
  
It only seems to anger Fernando furiously hearing those words. “It is true,” he snarls. “There is nothing personal here!” A shoe is waved viciously between them to ensure Mark got his point. “And that is fine!”  
  
Mark wants to shout back, wants to argue that if it was fine why Fernando so pissed but he keeps his mouth shut because he and Fernando didn’t fight, and if this was a fight he was going to end it before it got any further. “Have a safe flight,” he states curtly.  
  
Mark returns to picking at his breakfast as Fernando finishes grabbing his things and then leaves. Neither of them speak another word to each other and the door Fernando closes when he does leave, echoes in Mark’s head long after. Shakily Mark puts his plate back on the bed before pushing his finger through his hair and just holding on.  
  
“Fuck,” he breathes out. He’s 99% sure that this was a fight. “ _Fuck_.”  
  


*              *              *

  
It wasn’t like he and Fernando actively chatted between races, they rarely saw each and often there was no contact. But after their ‘goodbye’ at the last race Mark is sure he can feel the tense silence that stretched between them from England to Spain. He hated it, hadn’t experienced the cold shoulder from Fernando, hadn’t been shut out like this before.  
  
The longer the silence dragged out the more frequently Mark found himself staring at Fernando’s number on the screen ready to call, or looking at his messages almost ready to send something. But he was unable to break the silence, unable to apologise, admit he was wrong. Doing any of that, admitting in any way that he _needed_ Fernando would be the beginning of the end, and not of their friendship but for the very reason he and Sebastian couldn’t get along. They both needed to remember, rivals first, always first. Fernando was a rival, not a friend. He wasn’t _anything_.  
  
And during the race break, Mark is sure he has repeated that to himself at least a 1000 times, and come the next race, he feels delightfully numb in regards to the whole situation. At least till he spies Jenson talking happily with a stony looking Fernando in the paddock early Thursday.  
Well fuck.

*              *              *

  
Mark tries his hardest to not imagine all the different ways Jenson could be telling Fernando their _non­_ -conversation from the prior race. But he can’t shut off thoughts of Fernando knowing the truth, the different reactions it may invoke in the Spaniard some of them turn his blood cold, others have his face flush with embarrassment or his blood burn and trying to shut off thoughts that would lead to public embarrassment; thoughts he only ever had after a few drinks, in the dark and very alone. His driven crazy by the rollercoaster in his head and all the while silence between him and the Ferrari driver continued.  
  
On the driver parade, Jenson joins Mark where he was trying to stand alone on the crowded platform. The presence of his supposed friend has Mark considering shoving him over the rail. Glaring daggers into Jenson Mark refuses to return the happy greeting which sees Jenson’s smile quickly turn puzzled.  
  
“Still pissed at me?”  
  
Mark presses his lips together because he had decided Jenson wasn’t worth one more ounce of his time. Gripping the rail tightly behind him, Mark turns his back to Jenson and finds himself with a clear line of vision of Fernando sitting on the rail further down, still unsmiling but with his teammate and the William’s drivers for company.  
  
“I don’t know why you’re mad? I haven’t done anything…”  
  
Despite the coloured shades Fernando was sporting Mark knows the Spaniard was returning the stare. Mark wants to go over and hurl that hideous specs off Fernando’s face because he can’t tell what kind of look Fernando was giving with his eyes shielded. Disgust? An apology? Though he doubts Fernando would apologise to him for anything.  
  
Mark blinks when a hand disrupts his vision with furious waving. “Mark!” Jenson punches him in the side lightly to ensure his attention. “Fuck man, how bad have you two let this thing get?”  
  
Turning to face the Brit, Mark’s angry retort dies because there was no humour in Jenson’s face, just concern and Mark flinches when Jenson squeezes his arm. “We should have dinner somewhere quiet and talk…” his tone was serious, nothing like his last offer and for one wild moment Mark nearly says yes, ready to let his walls crump and break and spill out everything. But before he could accept the offer or at least decline a hand presses into his back, firm and hot in its greeting as Fernando appears next to him, and whatever answer he had for Jenson is gone.  
  
“Jenson,” Fernando greets him with a grunt of his name but despite Jenson’s eyebrows shooting up he removes his hand from Mark’s arm and accepts the handshake from Fernando.  
  
Jenson shakes his head moves away from the pair of them, the truck they were on rolling to a stop to end their lap anyway, “Dinner tonight,” he repeats pointedly at Mark.  
  
Mark’s breath catches when the hand Fernando still had on his back that felt like it was searing him through his shirt suddenly shifts to dig nails into his skin. There was no mistaking Fernando’s silent message. “Not this weekend,” Mark shakes his head and he swears that as he exits with Fernando he could feel the smugness coming off the Spaniard at having accomplished something he wanted.  
  
Needing to focus on the race ahead and not prepared to allow himself to be distracted Mark walks off leaving Fernando’s side without a word spoken between them. Maybe silence and ignoring the Ferrari driver was the key to moving on and righting his head. The moment though he stepped back into the safety of his motorhome his phone was already buzzing with a message.  
  
 _Dinner tonight. We will talk._  
  
Mark felt everything inside of him clench up and then do a slow sickening flop. Dinner tonight with Fernando it was. For one long moment Mark lets the dread wash over him of all the things that might possibly go bad with this evening, with what Jenson might of said to Fernando before shoving it all back down. Race first, messy complicated relationships tonight. At dinner.  
  


*              *              *

  
It was the first dinner Mark had that he could remember where he didn’t actually want to be at dinner with Fernando. He felt tense and on the edge of his seat almost like he was waiting for Fernando to broach the taboo subject. But it doesn’t come, in fact Fernando is exceptionally chatty, he does all the talking, filling in the silences that Mark lets draw out between them. Fernando was doing everything he could to put them back on the right foot and the only person not playing the game was Mark.  
  
Feeling guilty and a tad ashamed when he realises that his fears were unfounded, Mark decides to stop sulking over nothing. By the end of their meal it was like nothing had ever been amiss and they were their usual friendly upbeat selves. They linger at dinner, neither in a rush to return to their individual rooms, finish a bottle of wine between them and with Mark focusing more and more on the foot playing with his under the table. Mark was sure now that everything was back in its right place. Everything would be fine.  
  
“You want some company?” Fernando asks as they make their way out of the hotel restaurant. “We could see if there is a movie to watch together?”  
  
“Yeah why not,” Mark smiles in response as both of them drift closer together, arms brushing one another as they make their way to the elevator.  
  
“We could also maybe talk?” Fernando’s suggestion is dropped in casually as he leans over to press the up button as Mark’s stomach drops. “All these dinners you are having with Jenson all of a sudden.” There’s a hint of heat in Fernando’s tone, anger or jealousy simmering in there that has Mark stare at his friend.  
  
“I had dinner with him once and it wasn’t dinner technically,” Mark response is cautious and Fernando’s shrug comes off far too casual as they step into the elevator together.  
  
“I am simply saying that you are spending a lot of time with him at the moment…”  
  
Mark presses the button to his floor with a little too much force. “Jenson has made me his latest pet project. Stop with the jealousy.” Fuck. The moment he said the word ‘jealousy’ Mark regretted, standing there frozen and unable to turn back around immediately.  
  
The silence finally is broken with a scoffed, “Jealous? I am _not_ jealous.” The venomous response has Mark facing what was now a clearly agitated looking Fernando. “I just think that some races you have dinner with me and not just with Jenson. Not when he upsets you.”  
  
“He doesn’t upset –“ Mark stops when the doors open and sucking in his breath he decides he wasn’t talking about this anymore. He walks out not caring if Fernando chose to still join him or not.  
  
“You going to do the brooding thing all night now?” Fernando was next to him in a beat. “I just want to talk.”  
  
“I don’t.” Mark snaps, he knows he does, and there’s no hurt in Fernando’s face at the harshness just stubbornness.  
  
“I want to know.”  
  
“Well go ask Jenson then if he hasn’t already told you!” Yanking out the room card from his pocket he struggles with the lock.  
  
“Why would Jenson ask me?” Fernando’s face was puzzled before it changes erasing all signs of emotions, the other man stiffening next to him.  
  
“Fuck these stupid bloody doors,” Mark furiously stabs the key card in the slot trying to make it unlock when Fernando’s fingers push his away.  
  
“Let me,” he murmurs and Mark watches in frustration when Fernando has door open seconds later with no issue. “See, no big problem.” When they’re  
both inside, door closed behind them Fernando offers the key card with a tight smile. “I am upsetting you,” he says quietly.  
  
“Fuck,” Mark snatches the card back. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”  
  
Fernando takes what he wants from Mark’s answer. “So I am.”  
  
“Do not pretend to understand anything here mate,” Mark warns in a shaky voice. This was by the far they closest they have ever had to a discussion about them. He wasn’t even quite sure they were on the same page.  
  
“I try hard not to, for sure,” Fernando’s voice is quiet and he looks over Mark’s shoulder not meeting his eyes. “I don’t like this.”  
  
Mark’s heart was pounding hard, he feels sick and relieved all at once. Fernando didn’t want this; that was a good thing. That would make this a hell of a lot easier. “Okay, this isn’t an issue then,” Mark says slowly, licking his lips with a quick dart of his tongue, something Fernando doesn’t miss, something that draws Fernando far too close. “We will forget this conversation…” Mark trails off when Fernando’s fingers rest on the back of his hand before they sweep slowly up his arm. His arm feels like it jumps alive under his touch, tingling and heating up under the pattern Fernando makes with his fingertips.  
  
Wanting more, Mark steps forward to remove the last of the space as he slips an arm around Fernando, hand falling to the small of his back. He waits for Fernando to bolt, to yell, to do _something_ to stop this. But Fernando was staring at him now and it was with anything but disgust or disbelief and Mark’s heartbeat picks up, he feels like everything else just faded out, it was just him and Fernando, and brown eyes staring at him with want and desire he only saw in his dreams.  
  
“Mark…” Fernando breathes his name out in a heavy whisper, the hand on his arm have slid upwards, over his shoulder to settle on the back of his neck. The other hand was rubbing his chest, feeling Mark’s heart race.  
  
This was far more contact than Mark was used to, he struggled to comprehend it all. The way Fernando was trying to press closer, the way Fernando’s fingers pushed into his hair and then grasped it tightly, the way his own hands pulled him closer, clutched at him, and all Mark knew right then was that this was never going to be enough. He’d never have enough. And he was terrified.  
  
It’s Fernando that forces them across that last line. He tugs at Mark’s head, lifts his own in the most inviting manner, lips parted as he begs for more. The fact that it was Mark that technically kissed him won’t change Mark’s mind about whose fault this was should there ever be an argument in the future. And the moment their lips do touch, Mark feels the last of his self-control snap. He kisses the other man furiously, fights with him for dominance as their tongues duel and teeth clash. And the whole time Fernando moans and makes the delicious noises that Mark is soon hard beyond belief as he grinds against the other man. And that’s when Fernando finally lets him take his mouth the way he wants, opens up and submits, and growling Mark forces Fernando back the few feet to the door. Pressing into him and taking everything he could as Fernando moaned and pulled him closer, trying to take more as he writhed between the door and Mark.  
  
It could have been minutes or hours that they made out against the door, Mark wasn’t sure. But Fernando was suddenly tugging on his hair, ripping his mouth back. And gasping for air he cries out, “Stop. Stop!”  
  
When moments earlier Mark wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop, he’s surprised at how quickly he stumbled back, releasing Fernando at his request. Breathing hard, staring at the equally short of breath Spaniard who looked wrecked with his flushed cheeks, swollen lips and wide eyes. It takes every ounce of effort to not step forward and take more but he notes that Fernando was staring at him in shock, fingers digging into the door behind him as he shakes his head slowly.  
  
“No,” he whispers hoarsely. “No.”  
  
And with that Fernando turned and opened the door behind him and walked out, leaving Mark standing there aching in far more ways than one.  
  


*              *              *

  
Mark felt hung over the next day but it wasn’t from the few glasses of alcohol he’d shared with Fernando. But still, his head hurt, he felt heavy and there was nothing he could do shake off the regret that sat in his chest. He had no clue how to deal with last night and Fernando, he wasn’t even sure how he was going to go about forgetting it when he struggled to not recall every detail of their encounter whenever he closed his eyes.  
Sitting at the airport waiting for his flight that was delayed, Mark buries his face in his hands and ignores his phone buzzing with messages. He knew it was Jenson, Jenson had been texting him offering him dating tips since Mark refused to take his advice in person. What Jenson failed to realise was how hard Mark was going to punch him the next time he saw him.  
  
Mark takes no notice of the person that falls into the seat next to him, he doesn’t even look, at least not till there’s the briefest touch grazed over his shoulder. He knew who it was in that moment before he heard the heavy Spanish accent, “I have been thinking about things…”  
  
Frozen in his seat Mark doesn’t dare move, there was no possible way that Fernando would mention last night in an airport lounge, the man wasn’t so completely fucking stupid.  
  
“I think if I let you leave thinking that I hate you that it will not be so good for us at the next race.” The hesitancy and the quietness of a man that usually showed so much confidence has Mark finally straighten up, though he can’t quite bring himself to look at Fernando sitting next to him.  
  
“I think we should not be talking about this right now,” Mark murmurs back. He had no intentions of ever mentioning this again as he warily eyed people around them.  
  
“I think we should,” Fernando again shows his stubbornness much to Mark’s irritation but he was hardly going to have a public spat right here. “I try hard to keep it all separate all the time. We are drivers, we are friends, but we are also rivals too. I don’t want to make it confusing, the different parts. You understand?”  
  
Mark did understand, he understood it all too well. It was the reason he’d tried not to cross any lines. “Yeah mate, trust me, I understand.”  
  
“Good,” Fernando nodded slowly and then looked ahead as he fiddled with the phone in his hand. “I keep waiting for you to announce if you are leaving me next year or not.”  
  
Mark’s mouth threatens to break into a smile at how Fernando viewed him leaving F1.  
  
“I am not asking you to tell me, do not want to tell you to make a certain decision. Just that if you stay, race again, in whatever team, we will be the same, friends.” Mark looks over at the Spaniard properly as he hesitantly adds, “But if you do leave, you will no longer be an F1 driver, and things would be different…” He trails off before adding, “We could be more _personal_.”  
  
Mark’s mouth goes dry at the prospect and he licks his lips images of Fernando moaning between him and his hotel room door rushing back into his mind with a vengeance. “I decided quite some time ago my decision on F1 next year…”  
  
Fernando shrugs. “Of course, I have no doubts about that. It is why I tell you that because it will not change your decision.” He smiles then, wide and bright as he stands up, “I look forward to your announcement, whatever it is.”  
  
Itching to reveal his decision right then to Fernando he manages to hold it in. “Fer, last night…”  
  
Fernando hesitates before shrugging, face turning neutral. “There’s nothing to talk about. It was… nothing.”  
  
Understanding that there would be no further discussion on it, at least under current circumstances, Mark just nods. “See you next race mate.”  
  
“Si, of course,” Fernando smiles, “Silverstone, should be fun.”  
  
“Yeah,” Mark responds watching as Fernando walks away. Silverstone. Leaning back in his seat, despite his still lingering headache Mark didn’t feel quite so heavy. He was looking forward to the next race immensely all of a sudden.

  
*              *              *

 

_End._


End file.
